


Life Is Just A Ferris Wheel

by tjstar



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Bandom - Freeform, First Meetings, Friendship/Love, HAPPY END!!!!, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, kind of fluff i think, pete meets pregnant patrick and helps him go through it, vicky is an obstetrician, why not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-22 12:48:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4835996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tjstar/pseuds/tjstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Man, sorry for asking, but… Are you pregnant?” Pete’s question sounds creepy even for his own ears.</p><p>“No, I’m just fat,” the kid pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, avoiding Pete’s eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life Is Just A Ferris Wheel

Pete Wentz is a pretty clumsy and awkward person. So, when his skateboard goes in the completely wrong direction, Pete isn’t surprised, and he tries to slow down, maneuvering between the people on his way.

Pete rushes with the speed of light down the pavement, it’s the problem, but then he collides with someone soft and almost comfortable — it’s a pudgy guy; he immediately drops his grocery bag on the asphalt and clings to the metal fence, holding himself in vertical position. Big red apples fall out of the bag, but the kid freezes, still gripping the fence with one hand. When Pete realizes that he’s at least alive, he notices stranger’s reaction: he’s terrified, he stares at the ground, and his free hand slowly rubs his stomach as he struggles to breathe normally.

Now Pete’s scared too. His skateboard lies abandoned on the ground, and Pete isn’t sure what he’s supposed to do. He has to put all the apples back into the bag, but…

This guy is obviously not okay. Pete pulsates with adrenaline, and at the moment he can recognize only the outlines: reddish-blond hair, grey baseball cap, oversized blue hoodie and baggy black sweatpants. Even his outlines are cute. Such a good first impression. Also he’s wearing rimless glasses, it’s kind of nerdy, and this kid looks lost, offended and upset.

“Dude, I’m sorry! Like… Shit, I’m sorry!” Pete presses his palm to the guy’s belly automatically, thinking he’s got a blow during their ‘flight’. His face is very pale like he’s going to faint right here; he stumbles, and Pete wraps his arms around stranger’s waist.

When _something_ kicks Pete’s hand, this weird person freaks out.

“Don’t…” he slaps Pete’s wrist roughly and steps aside, leaning his back against the fence, but Pete manages to feel one more thrust. He opens his mouth to ask, but the guy looks at him angrily, and Pete just sighs and sinks to his knees, picking up apples and shoving them into that brown grocery bag.

Cute kid places his hands on his stomach protectively, unable to keep his secret.

“Are you hurt?” Pete watches him concernedly, standing up next to him. He looks very young, he’s like sixteen or so, and it’s not the right age for… Fuck.

The guy shakes his head.

“I’m fine. You have to be more attentive,” he reaches out his hand to take his paper bag.

“Man, sorry for asking, but… Are you pregnant?” Pete’s question sounds creepy even for his own ears.

“No, I’m just fat,” the kid pushes his glasses up to the bridge of his nose, avoiding Pete’s eyes.

Now Pete stares at him shamelessly.

This unfriendly guy blushes and hides his face under the brim of his hat. Probably, _something_ kicks him from the inside again, because he winces, pressing his palm to his lower belly.

“What’s your name?” Pete still holds those damned apples and hopes he doesn’t look like a thief, because the kid apparently worries about his bag.

“Patrick,” he tugs his hoodie down and looks at his dirty converses.

“Pete,” Pete isn’t sure if Patrick wants to know his name, but introduces himself anyway.

“Cool. Now give me my apples back,” Patrick insists, getting more and more nervous. Maybe, he wants to scream that Pete is harassing him, but people on the street don’t pay any attention on the scene near the metal fence. 

“Are you sure you’re okay? I can help you with this bag, you know…  Where are you living?” Pete is so enthusiastic.

Patrick wants to say it’s just his diet, and he doesn’t need a help, but movements in his stomach make him vulnerable for society.

“Stop it,” he mutters, rubbing his stomach.

“What? Baby’s kicking?” Pete smirks a little when Patrick glares at him. “So, where are we going?”

Patrick waves his hand at the side of apartment buildings, and Pete nods, stepping on the skateboard; it jumps up obediently, and Pete catches it with his free hand.

“Wanna try?” Pete asks, winking.

“Ha-ha, so funny,” Patrick replies in a deadpan voice, turning away and going towards the direction of the building; Pete follows him with apples and skateboard in his hands.

They walk in silence for a while, but Pete’s brain is full of dancing questions, so one of them finally leaks out through his mouth.

“How far along are you?” Pete can feel Patrick craves to punch him.

“It’s secret information,” Patrick sticks out his tongue. “Shut up and buy me Skittles.”

This is Pete’s happy ticket — he’s hanging out with a pregnant guy who gives him orders after ten minutes of their meeting.

Pete doesn’t mind, really.

 

***

Patrick lives on the fourth floor. When he rummages in his pocket and finally finds the key, Pete feels incredibly sad. Not because Patrick is the first pregnant guy on his way; he’s just adorable, and Pete suddenly feels like he wants to take care of him, talk to him; Pete is twenty-four year old, he’d like to be a father, and maybe…

Of course, Patrick ruins this romantic moment.

“I’m hungry,” Patrick grumbles, and Pete finally hands him that grocery bag. And three packs of Skittles. Patrick smiles a little guiltily, now he is friendlier than in the moment when Pete literally slammed him to the fence on the street.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Pete asks him for the twentieth time.

“I’m okay. We’re okay,” Patrick reassures, nodding.

Pete just tries to find a reason to stay. It’s a miracle, the most wonderful thing in the world, and Pete can’t let it go.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Pete almost crosses his fingers for luck.

Patrick wants to say he’s busy tomorrow (actually, it’s not true — he will lie on the couch, watching shitty TV), but he thinks he’s a pretty lonely guy, and Pete would not mess up these amazing plans. So, Patrick agrees, and Pete gives him a wide grin; he looks like an emoji, showing his happiness.

“Cool. Bye,” Patrick doesn’t let Pete sneak into the hallway and closes the door.

He can keep asking himself what the hell is going on, but it’s useless, because he’s had no answers since the beginning; Patrick doesn’t know why this strange emo guy pretends being a friend, and probably he will run away after the second day of their communication. Patrick is ready for it. Actually, he’s ready for everything except for being a father. Patrick remembers _that_ night; it wasn’t love of Patrick’s whole life — it was just one-night stand after some rock-concert in the end of February. An experiment. Hard mattress, squeaky bed and body heat; now Patrick doesn’t even try to find that guy — drummer from ‘The Damned Things’. When Patrick realized there was something wrong with him it was too late, anyway.

Patrick walks into the kitchen and freezes in front of window as the sudden wave of dizziness hits him; in recent weeks, it happens more often than usual. Low blood pressure, Doctor Asher says. Patrick can’t understand how the hell his blood pressure can be low if he’s fucking pregnant, but that’s the fact. Besides, that obstetrician — Dr. Asher for other patients and just Vicky for Patrick — is his good friend, and it’s the happiest part of the situation; Vicky overworks, checking him out in her (and Patrick’s) free time, but it really helps them to keep confidentiality. Medical secrecy and all that stuff.

Patrick is satisfied that paparazzi don’t run after him with their cameras, and no one bothers him with stupid questions. If Pete will spread the rumors, Patrick is going to find him and kill him slowly and painfully.

The world moves around him faster, and Patrick clutches the windowsill, closing his eyes and trying to breathe in steady rhythm. He has never been able to handle the spinning, but now it’s just a torture for his vestibular system. He has to calm himself.

‘ _One… Two… Three… If you’re going to faint no one will help you_ ,’ Patrick reminds to himself mentally. _‘Four… Five… Six.’_  

Tasting stomach acid in his mouth, Patrick grimaces as the baby kicks him again. But when he decides he’s going to puke, all of it finally stops. Patrick sighs heavily and opens his eyes, still standing on his feet and shaking in fear; he’s terrified of the thought he could lose consciousness and smash his head, and no one would have found him.

That awkward moment, when his relatives think he’s a successful college student, yeah, Patrick is the champion at keeping secrets. Only his mom knows the truth — when Patrick told her about the pregnancy, she was shocked in a good way; of course, she offered him to move back home, but Patrick said his ‘no’. He doesn’t want this private information to leak out, and he used to talk to Vicky and only Vicky about his state; also, she will perform a c-section when the baby will be ready to born. It’s strange, but some people in the hospital think that Patrick is Vicky’s boyfriend.

On Patrick’s birthday, his mom visited him, and later, in the middle of summer, she lived with him for a few days. Patrick felt slightly uncomfortable when she said that he looks beautiful and healthy. He didn’t say anything.

They talk on Skype every evening, and she always asks him to take pictures of his growing stomach.

Now Patrick was almost dropped out of college; the second year of education just started. Patrick’s financial situation is not good, but he tries his best to pay for his rental apartment, and also he tries to make a career at recording audiobooks. Fortunately, it generates some income.

But it’s not what he wants. He wants to create a band and work on music, but now this dream is shattered, because Patrick expects his child in November, he still has to attend classes, and Patrick doesn’t know how long he can hide his mysterious weight gain.

Patrick feels sick again, and his stomach turns, rumbling with hunger; when he realizes he can stand without holding onto something, he slowly heads to the fridge.

Maybe, it’s time to call his mom and ask her for help, and maybe Patrick should really go back home, but also he has to meet Vicky at Monday, and probably he’s gonna die during the bus ride.

Too many problems, but at the moment Patrick doesn’t want to think about it; he wants to flop down onto the couch and eat the leftover pizza. And Skittles. And apples, because vitamins are always good.

 

***

Excitement is all what Pete can feel. He can’t wait till his shift at the record store ends, and when it’s 6 o’clock, Pete runs out of the store and jumps on his skateboard, hurrying to buy some Skittles and meet yesterday’s guy with pretty belly.

This time, Pete’s ride goes successfully, and when he stands in front of Patrick’s already familiar door, his heart’s beating like it’s going to explode.

Patrick opens the door, and Pete can’t resist the urge to hug him. Pete wraps his arms around Patrick’s neck and places his chin on Patrick’s shoulder; Patrick’s round stomach bumps against Pete’s abs, and reddish guy quickly breaks the hug.

“Um… Come in,” Patrick waves his hand at the room, and Pete goes after him, taking his shoes off in the hallway.

Patrick’s apartment is a mess: scattered clothes on the floor and on the chairs, posters on the walls and almost dried flowers on the windowsill. Pete looks around and notices an acoustic guitar standing in the corner, near the small couch with patchwork blanket; there’s a TV in front of the couch, and Pete smirks, realizing that Patrick watches ‘How I met your mother’.

Very symbolic.

“Nice,” Pete says thoughtfully, looking around the room once again, in attempts to make himself not to stare at Patrick. His green t-shirt can’t hide his state; it fits tight on the swell of Patrick’s belly, and Pete just can’t tear his eyes away.

Pete sits down onto the couch and pulls a few packs of Skittles out of the pocket of his hoodie; Patrick hesitates, but then sits next to his guest, cross-legged.

“I don’t know how to entertain you,” Patrick confesses sadly. Usually, he just watches TV or some shit at the internet; he is studying or recording chapters for audio books (right now — fairytales), and it’s all what he can do at home.

“You don’t have to do anything,” Pete replies and politely tries not to watch when Patrick rubs his stomach, biting his bottom lip; Pete can swear, Patrick bites his lip too often, it’s almost bruised purple.

“What?” Patrick asks, catching Pete’s glance.

Suddenly, Pete understands the absurdity of the situation: he’s an unknown person, and God knows what Patrick thinks about him. Pete decides to make a good impression as his heart nearly stops at the thought he could hurt a baby yesterday.

“I just feel guilty as fuck, and I want to help you. Please, don’t think that I’m a rapist or so,” Pete can’t control his tongue, it always makes things worse.

Patrick gives him a death glare over the glasses.

“Man, I’m pregnant, and I think I’m balding. It doesn’t make me attractive for rapists, anyway,” he responds, scratching his knee.

Pete suggests he just solved the mystery of Patrick’s trucker hat.

“So, you don’t deny… This,” Pete points his finger at Patrick’s belly.

“At first, I was scared, and then it was too late to change anything,” Patrick shrugs and huffs humbly, when Pete leans his ear to his stomach to listen to what baby’s doing.

It seems like baby’s doing nothing.

“How did this happen?” now Pete looks straight into Patrick’s eyes, and Patrick feels like a fool; he has never been good at confiding in people, he always acts like a freak, hiding at corners in college. He had almost got beaten up at his second trimester because of his _weirdness,_ and his social anxiety progresses.  

“I was just stupid. And that guy was beautiful. A musician,” Patrick smirks when baby kicks him in agreement.

“Do you have…? Um…” with his gaze, Pete scans Patrick’s crotch through his flannel pajama pants, and Patrick thinks his sitting position is vulgar, but he used to sit like this, because no one sees him mostly.

“I have no vagina, okay? I’m a man, but I can really carry a baby,” Patrick replies sheepishly and throws a blanket over that spot between his legs, which made Pete so interested.

“So, how does it feel? Boy or girl?” Pete asks, coming to senses.

“It doesn’t matter,” Patrick shrugs carelessly. “Vicky — my obstetrician — knows. I’m gonna know it when the baby will be born.”

“How?” Pete frowns.

“C-section. I won’t change my gender,” Patrick jokes, chuckling softly. 

Pete amazes by the fact how Patrick talks about the operation — like it’s nothing.

“Well… How old are you?” now Pete looks confused a little.

“I turned nineteen in April,” Patrick sighs. “Oh shit,” he mumbles, squeezing his eyes shut and throwing his head back.

“What?!” Pete is ready to share the pain or what the hell is wrong with Patrick.

“My back is killing me,” Patrick reaches his hands above his head, stretching and wincing at another pain attack.

At the moment, Patrick wants to tell him everything; about his panic, about sleepless nights, when baby kicks at his bladder, forcing him almost run to bathroom every forty minutes, or about fever erotic dreams, which make him wake up embarrassed and sticky in his underwear. There’s nothing supernatural in being too-fucking-horny at nineteen, but the fact of being too-fucking-pregnant makes everything complicated. Of course.

But Patrick keeps silence.

They just sit on the couch and watch TV; then Patrick offers to eat sandwiches, because he doesn’t have anything else in his fridge. Pete agrees cheerfully, and it makes Patrick sad. Hormones, probably.

After unplanned dinner, in the kitchen, Pete decides to wash the dishes (Patrick grew a mini Everest in the sink) while the kettle boils up.

“Don’t do it,” Patrick protests when Pete turns the water on.

“But I want to,” Pete insists, cleaning up a dried sauce.

“You’re my guest… Ow,” Patrick exhales, feeling a strong kick from the inside.

Patrick thinks, it’s good — to have his own little family, with kids, and… Shit. He can’t find that /father/ guy, and all efforts are useless.

When Pete decides to mop the floor, Patrick stops him categorically and advises to take a coffee-break instead.

“I can stay here, you know. For a night,” Pete takes a sip of his coffee.

Patrick almost chokes on his green tea _(‘antioxidants, Stump’_ ) and shakes his head; he can’t lay all his problems on Pete’s shoulders.

“No, I’m fine, really. You can go home, it’s late,” Patrick forces himself for a smile.

Unfortunately, Pete doesn't want to seem bothersome, and he really goes home after pouring enough water on Patrick’s flowers.

This night, Patrick regrets about his loneliness. He tosses and turns on his couch as the pain shoots his back again and again; Patrick can’t find comfortable position and spends the rest of night sitting on the floor and leaning his aching back against the side of couch. The baby kicks him almost mockingly, and Patrick just lies down on the floor and buries his face in his hands, breathing heavily.

He wishes Pete was here.

 

***

Next day, Pete shows up in front of Patrick’s door with a huge red ball, which barely fits to the doorframe.

“What the hell is this?” Patrick asks, shoving his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants.

“Fitball. It’s like, you sit on it, and your back feels amazing,” Pete explains, rolling the ball into Patrick’s apartment.

“Man, I skip PE, and I don’t think my back is able to feel _amazing_ now,” Patrick crosses his arms over his stomach.

“Well, let’s try,” Pete shrugs, winking.

Patrick agrees, but he can’t even sit on the fitball without falling, let alone feel awesome. He starts to collapse to the side, and Pete grabs him by the shoulders; well, he is not a qualified fitness trainer. Cursing Pilates, Patrick slides off of the ball, but Pete holds him up successfully. Anyway, Patrick can’t keep the balance, and with Pete’s help he ends up lying on the floor and laughing out loud.

“I’m a Mommy Duck,” Patrick smirks. “Hey, don’t tickle me!!” he shouts when Pete catches him under the armpits to lift him up.

“How’s your back?” Pete hopes he didn’t make Patrick’s state worse. At least, Patrick didn’t fall completely.

“Hurts, but you really cheered us up,” Patrick grins, rubbing his belly.

“So, your yoga skills are very specific,” Pete concludes, when Patrick manages at least to sit up on the floor.

“I told you, I’m hopeless,” Patrick adjusts his baseball cap. Then Pete manhandles him to the couch, and Patrick finally catches his breath, relaxing.

Pete can’t believe that Patrick is nineteen year old. He still thinks this guy is like sixteen, but it’s better that he’s older. Despite his age and gender, Patrick handles his state really well, and he has some inner light, which makes him so special.

“Are you checking out?” Pete asks, staring at tiny freckles on the bridge of Patrick’s nose.

“Yeah. Ultrasound planned at Monday,” Patrick nods, opening he pack of Skittles.

“I’ll go with you,” Pete says confidently.

Patrick picks up the words for an answer, but suddenly his tongue is numb, and he just nods again in agreement.

His life is not easy. Patrick tries not to leave his apartment without a good reason like meeting Vicky or going to college.

Patrick hates college, and he doesn’t want to spend the rest of his life like an office plankton (and lonely parent), but unluckily, that’s all what he can get now. Being an overweight accountant with huge glasses is not Patrick’s biggest dream (it’s not his dream at all), but his _situation_ doesn’t let him choose something else. So, when Pete asks him about his job, Patrick just wants to sink through the floor.

“I sell my voice,” Patrick explains shamefacedly.

“How?” Pete looks surprised.

“Audiobooks. I read and record them, and one popular website pays me for it. Not much, but now I can’t find another job,” Patrick sighs and breathes out through his clenched teeth, in attempt to relieve the wave of pain in his back.

“Do you like it?” Pete thinks he falls in love with all the audiobooks in the internet.

“I like to sing,” Patrick blurts out and then looks at Pete apologetically. “Want to hear?”

It’s perfect, actually.

Patrick looks funny as he crosses the room to take his guitar. Pete watches him with compassion, because Patrick frowns slightly, pressing his palm to the small of his back and holding guitar in his free hand.

When Patrick sits down on the floor, and his fingers run over the strings, Pete wants to write a million lullabies; Patrick’s voice sounds great even when he just talks about something. His singing is something extraordinary, Pete’s sure.

Of course.

Patrick sings a cover of a ‘Turnpike Gates’ by Lifetime, and Pete feels like a member of some secret club and closes his eyes, listening.

_‘But you’re miserable and I’m useless_

_Always making up excuses.’_

Patrick’s voice shakes a little, and Pete thinks these lines mean something personal for him; or maybe the child just kicked him again.

“Dude, you’re genius,” Pete encourages him with a huge grin.

“Yes I am,” Patrick laughs, hugging his guitar.

He avoids Pete’s eyes after his little ‘performance’ and stares at the floor; his hair is a little-too-long, and it covers Patrick’s face when he tilts his head forward. Pete wonders how Patrick can see something through this curtain of reddish bangs, but then he remembers about his own emo-style bangs. They’re like hair-soulmates.

“So, see you on Monday?” Pete is not a fan of Skittles, but now he eats Patrick’s sweets nervously.

“Well, yes. If you want to deal with me during the bus ride,” Patrick huffs, brushing his hair away from his eyes.

Pete dreams again. Surely, they would be a great couple of emos’ with the kid that will definitely look like a tiny copy of Patrick.

 

***

On Monday, Pete catches Patrick at the bus stop (Pete went to visit his parents for the weekend, and he couldn’t hang out with Patrick more).

He looks as always — messy hair, baseball cap, glasses and oversized clothes; he smiles and waves his hand, noticing Pete.

“Hey!” Pete brings his arms up to hug his new friend, but Patrick just high-fives him instead.

“Hi. I’m ready,” Patrick mumbles, clutching the strap of his sports bag and looking extremely focused.

When the bus drives up, Patrick sighs and gets inside with the indistinct ‘oh shit’, brushing Pete’s hand off of his shoulder when he tries to hold him.

Patrick’s lips pressed into a thin line all the way to the hospital, and when Pete asks him what’s wrong, he simply replies that his baby doesn’t like the buses. And cars.

Pete doesn’t want to bother him with questions.

When they go to the hospital building, Pete decides to speak.

“It’s like, the end of a workday,” he breaks the tense silence.

“I know,” Patrick rolls his eyes. “I’m a special patient, and that’s why I arrive so late.”

Pete wants to go with Patrick till the end — to an obstetrician’s office — but Patrick tells him to wait in the garden near the building.

“Sit on the bench, watch the birds… I don’t know! Do what you want to do, but please — don’t go with me,” Patrick insists, disappearing behind the hospital’s door.

Well, it looks like Patrick is the boss. Pete sits on the bench and literally watches the birds — fat pigeons; they are funny when they walk, like they are pregn…

Pete hangs out there by himself nearly an hour. He knows everything about pigeons now.

Oh no. Pete is going crazy. Yes, he is, because it’s the only reason why he can feel jealous when he sees Patrick, going out of the door with the woman. Beautiful, dark-haired woman. Vicky. Fuck. Pete’s heart clenches, but he admits they look very nice together.

By the way, she’s on her high heels is taller than Patrick in his sneakers, and Pete can’t help but gloats a little.

“So, you are Pete?” Vicky reaches out her hand to shake.

Pete nods and squeezes her palm, with a sarcastic ‘nice to meet you.’

Vicky gives him a sassy smile and winks.

“You two…” Pete starts, but swallows down his words as his mind drifts between ‘hate Vicky’ and ‘like Vicky’.

“Jesus, no!” Patrick shouts, facepalming. “I’m just…”

“Oh, don’t worry, I didn’t take his virginity,” Vicky gives Patrick a hard thump on his shoulder to make him shut up. “He wasn’t a virgin when we met…”

Patrick blushes and bites his already swollen bottom lip.

“I gotta pee. Please, don’t kill each other,” Patrick turns around and hurries back to the hospital building, hoping that he can be invisible.

Pete doesn’t want to stay here with Vicky, but it seems like she’s waiting for Patrick too. Fucking best friend.

“Oh, and don’t look at me like that!” Vicky places her hand on Pete’s shoulder. “I’m serious. Patrick doesn’t like girls, so you have a good chance.”

Pete pouts. Probably, he can stand talking to Vicky if it’s necessary; they are almost the same age.

“Can you, like… Tell me about Patrick’s pregnancy?” Pete is kind of obsessed with that ‘boy or girl’ thing.

“No, I can’t. I promised him,” Vicky presses her finger to her lips.

Fine, she complies with medical confidentiality, and it looks like she doesn’t want to share this information even with someone /Pete/ who already knows how unique Patrick is. Well, it’s good. Weighing the pros and cons, Pete decides he really has no reasons for hating Dr. Vicky. Until.

Patrick shows up unexpectedly and probably suspects something, because he grips Pete’s hoodie, dragging him away from Vicky.

She chuckles.

“I think, you have to buy some baby things, Stump,” the obstetrician glances at Patrick severely. “Are you gonna use your clothes as swaddles?”

Pete wants to tell her that there are no needs to call Patrick at his surname, but _he has to be polite_.

Patrick rubs his stomach, staring at the ground blankly.

“Come on, dude! Let’s go shopping!” Pete wraps his arm around Patrick’s shoulders.

Patrick nods. He’s pregnant, and actually, fresh air is extremely necessary for him, and he’s not ready for another bus ride. They can just go and look at some cute baby things; when Vicky opens her mouth to offer her help predictably, Pete and Patrick say ‘no’ almost in perfect unison.

They know what to do — blue color for boys, pink for girls. It’s easy to remember.

 

***

…Patrick doesn’t like shopping malls; he doesn’t like any places where someone can bump into him or punch him by the accident.

Shopping malls are always crowded, it makes Patrick feel like everyone stares at him, at his stomach, and they _know_ , or they just think he’s _fat,_ and even his baby is nervous now. His social skills are at the same level as his yoga skills, Patrick guesses.

“I don’t want blue swaddles, what if it’s a girl?” Patrick grumbles, wandering around the section with different products for newborns. He looks at pacifiers and rattles, and yes — he has to get himself ready for constant crying; Patrick hopes it won’t ruin his delicate ear for music.

“So what?” Pete shrugs, carrying Patrick’s bag.

Pete can’t bear the thought that Patrick doesn’t even want to know his child’s gender and picks up the clothes with neutral colors. Actually, Patrick should feel it with his parental intuition, but is seems like he doesn’t care.

But Doctor Vicky knows everything.

“I will feel guilty about my daughter. Let’s buy something… Green?”

Patrick re-counts the colors of rainbow, and then the shop assistant appears straight out of nowhere; it’s a friendly-smiley guy with the nametag ‘Brendon’, and he scares Patrick to death, asking him traditional ‘can I help you’.

Patrick glares at him. Pete giggles and tries to save the day.

“My… Um… Wife is pregnant, and we want to get a gift for her, right?” Pete pokes Patrick’s ribs slightly. Patrick nods wordlessly, hiding his face under his baseball cap.

“Congratulations!” Brendon beams, shaking Pete’s hand. “How far along is she?”

Brendon looks happy, and his positive mood comes to Patrick gradually; what the hell, he can’t change anything except for providing a good life for his kid. So, he can do it.

Pete is about to reply that he doesn’t know the details about his wife’s pregnancy, but…

“Twenty nine weeks,” Patrick suddenly joins the conversation, answering instead of Pete. “I’m a family friend,” he explains when Brendon gives him a puzzled look.

“Well, it’s time to buy a baby cot, don’t you think?” shop assistant asks.

Another mood swing. Patrick doesn’t want to buy a baby cot. He thinks the baby will feel great on his couch, but he is just a _family friend,_ and when Pete agrees, Patrick can’t tell him _‘shut the fuck up’_.

Patrick wants to get back home, hide under the covers on his couch and sleep until the child is born.

Brendon gives them an excursion over all the baby cots and prams; Patrick drowns in his thoughts and zones off when they walk around the shop section in tenth time. He understands, there are no reasons to put off the purchase, and things become real, even more real than before.

Patrick wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans (stupid jeans with elastic waistband) and pretends listening to Brendon’s advices.

When Pete makes his choice and points at one of the baby cots, Patrick feels dizzy, and the air becomes too thick and hot, like in those moments when Patrick’s anxiety attacks him so badly.

Patrick wants to protest, but he’s not in his best shape to make a scandal, so he just prays silently for not to pass out in the center of the mall.

Pete pays with his card (Patrick curses himself for leaving his card at home) for a foldable baby cot, bunch of green swaddles and tiny clothes with teddy-bear print.

A little smile touches the corner of Patrick’s mouth, when he sees the sparkles in Pete’s eyes as he takes all the things he just bought.

_They have a chance._

Later, on the street, when fresh air fills up Patrick’s lungs, he feels much better, and he leans to Pete’s shoulder as they go to the bus stop.   

On the way back home, Patrick is so busy, swearing to Pete that he will give him all the money back, that he completely forgets about motion sickness in the bus for the first time in many weeks.

He can say their shopping went successfully.

Also, it’s the reason not to kick Pete out this evening. Patrick can’t just take the help without giving anything in return, so he offers Pete to sleep in the big armchair near his couch. Patrick’s rental apartment has only one room, small kitchen and bathroom, so he apologizes for probable inconveniences.

“Um… Sometimes I eat in the middle of the night,” Patrick whispers timidly, comforting himself under the blanket. “But I’m quiet, I promise.”

“Sometimes I don’t sleep in the middle of the night,” Pete responds from the armchair. “So, don’t worry about me.”

Pete suggests it’s hard to be quiet when you are almost 30 weeks pregnant, but three of them sleep just fine this night.

 

***

On Patrick’s 31st week, Pete persuades him to show his bare stomach. Really, there’s nothing to be ashamed of; Pete comes to Patrick every day after work, and he even stays here at night, Patrick used to his presence. Pete guesses, he’s about to get backaches too, because he sleeps in the armchair in fetal position.

Of course, Patrick doesn’t let him get too close. Patrick is really stubborn.

“If you show me your tummy, then I’ll show you all my tattoos,” Pete shrugs.

Patrick chews his bottom lip, thinking.

Tattoos. Tattoos are good, and they always turn him on. Patrick already knows about tattoos on Pete’s shoulders and forearms, what else he’s going to show him?.. Probably, it will cause another sticky-wet dream this night, but Patrick wants to see it anyway.

“It’s weird,” he warns, clutching the hem of his t-shirt.

“Don’t be shy, dude. My ex-girlfriend posted my nudes in the internet, I swear, it’s more embarrassing than your sweet belly,” Pete laughs and keeps staring at confused Patrick.

“That’s why I prefer guys,” Patrick replies sarcastically. Then he sighs and finally pulls his shirt up.

“Oh man, now I prefer guys too,” Pete blurts out.

Patrick is literally a walking miracle; Pete thinks that the view at his bare belly is better than any striptease he’d ever seen. Pale, round and strangely perfect, with a small belly button and tiny stretch marks on the skin. Pete places his hands at the sides of Patrick’s stomach, warm and pleasant to the touch.

Welcome to the club.

More than anything, Pete wants to take a part; he wants to be near, he wants to talk to Patrick, he wants to see this baby, and he’s ready to sell his soul to Devil for it.

Even if Patrick considers him as a friend.

When Pete shows him his almost-secret-tattoo on his flat stomach, Patrick looks at him enviously.

“Well, what are you planning for evening?” Pete changes the topic harshly.

“Skype-time with my mom,” Patrick slightly blushes.

“Oh. Am I… Going home, or?..” Pete can’t even formulate a question.

“No, stay with me,” Patrick flops down onto the couch and grabs his laptop. “My mom is really cool, she’ll like you.”

Yes, Pete hopes so. He sits next to Patrick and glances at the screen, waiting for the connection.

Sure, the first Skype conversation with Patrick’s mom will go down in history, because Pete’s a little confused when he sees a female version of Patrick; of course, she’s older, and she looks more graceful, but anyway this woman looks like him.

Pete waves his hand at the laptop screen, and Patrick introduces him.

“Hey, mom! It’s my friend, Pete… He… Um… He helps me, so don’t worry,” Patrick scratches his sideburn and then pushes his glasses up; he always gesticulates a lot when he’s nervous. 

“Oh hey, Pete. I’m Patricia,” she looks at Pete incredulously. Pete thinks she wants to forbid him communicate with Patrick, who sits on the couch next to him, holding a big pack of Skittles and looking incredibly cute.

“Nice to meet you,” Pete replies politely, but Patricia starts to scold her son for his ‘pregnant things’; really, his addiction to Skittles is strange.

“Patrick Martin Stump! Stop eating this unhealthy food!” Patricia orders, mostly because she’s a _mother,_ and she knows what’s _better_.

“No,” Patrick smiles through the mouthful of dragee and shows the pack to the web-camera. “It’s like, natural fruit juice, see?”

Patricia rolls her eyes (in Patrick’s manner, Pete almost falls down off the couch).

“Pete. Make him change his habits, please. Spank him, or I don’t know,” she sighs.

Pete’s hand already slides to Patrick’s thigh, and Patrick giggles, moving a few inches away.

“Sorry man, I can’t resist to what your mom just said,” Pete finally slaps his ass.

With the loud ‘ouch’ Patrick tries to kick him out of the couch; when Pete slides down, grabbing that patchwork blanket and landing onto the floor, Patrick lets out a triumphant yell, but Patricia cuts him off.

“Patrick, are you sure you don’t want to come back home?” she asks.

Pete’s afraid that Patrick can say ‘yes’, and it would be the right decision; but Patrick shakes his head as Pete promptly climbs back up onto the couch.

“Bus ride, mom. Eight hours. Don’t you feel sorry for me? Patrick gulps brokenly at the thought about shaking vehicle, and his face turns slightly green.

Pete hugs him, and Patricia DOES NOT wipe sentimental tears — seriously, she’s not gonna cry.

“I’ll arrive at the end of October no matter what. Pete, if you will suspect anything, drag him to the hospital, please. Tie him, if it’s necessary,” Patricia gives them a trembling smile.

Of course, she doesn’t mean something dubious, but Pete’s brain already pictures tied Patrick not in absolutely _right_ way. Pete just nods, leaning closer to him; Patrick’s elbow immediately connects with Pete’s ribs.

“Okay, mom. Bye!” Patrick reaches his hand to the laptop, wincing at double pain in his back and stomach as the baby kicks him in thousandth time this evening.

“Bye, guys. Be careful,” Patricia DOESN’T cry again, when Patrick ends the call.

 

***

There’s nothing wrong, right?

Pete’s breathing hot and heavy against Patrick’s ear, and Patrick’s fingers grip Pete’s bare shoulder; tattooed guy stripped down to his boxers, but Patrick didn’t take his loose t-shirt off despite the darkness in the room. He’s still pretty shy, but Pete’s kiss feels so good now, while his hand placed between Patrick’s legs, intensely stroking him through his underwear. Forgetting about the shyness, Patrick moans at the touch, and he doesn’t want to end it too fast, but the side effect of the pregnancy shows up.

Suddenly, Patrick realizes that his bladder is ready is burst out. He quickly excuses himself and goes to the bathroom as fast as he can, before it’s too late. But after solving his problem, Patrick intends to continue their interrupted make-out session, sure.

Patrick is so excited, but the baby inside him has other plans.

On the way back to the room, familiar pain hurts his back violently, and Patrick barely climbs up onto the couch, holding back a groan when Pete looks at him pityingly.

At the moment, Patrick doesn’t feel like he wants to have something else except for sleeping this night.

“Sorry,” Patrick mutters as Pete’s hand slides at the small of his back. Patrick feels guilty, but also he feels like someone hit him in the kidneys. Hard.

“It’s okay,” Pete sighs, moving his hand up to Patrick’s neck and rubbing gently.

“We can wait,” Patrick offers as the pain becomes a little less ass-kicking. But when he shifts to hug Pete, it returns again.

“Don’t do this for me,” Pete sighs. “Go to sleep.”

“Can I? It’s exactly what I need,” Patrick confesses and kisses Pete’s cheek almost cheerfully.

Pete covers Patrick with blanket and goes to large armchair, which has become customary for him.

 

***

Pete literally lives in Patrick’s rental apartment, because Patrick refuses to move into Pete’s place. It’s okay, Pete doesn’t want to rush things. He still works in the record store and checks his own apartment, but it feels empty without Patrick.

Maybe, Pete can convince Patrick to change his mind.

He just helps Patrick with home routine, gives him a company during the rides to hospital, and it doesn’t disappoint both of them. Patrick’s mom calls him every hour, asking him questions about his health, and Patrick always answers he’s fine — Pete acts like a baby daddy, and the kid’s behavior is almost golden. Sometimes, Patrick is grumpy and sarcastic, but in a somewhat good way; Pete likes it. _‘Hormones,’_ Pete repeats to himself. Patrick’s back hurts maybe too often, but it’s the pain he used to, and Patrick can’t even tell if he still pays attention to it.

At his 33d week, Patrick wakes up with pounding headache and sore throat, and also he can’t breathe through his nose. It means, Patrick can’t record the chapter for audio-fairytales today, and now he has to deal with Pete. But the child’s immune system has already evolved, and probably it’s all gonna be alright. 

Patrick sits on the couch while Pete runs around the room frantically, getting ready to haul Patrick to the hospital as he promised to his mom.

“Are you dizzy? Trick, answer me! Stop, don’t say anything, we are going to hospital!” Pete trips over the table, and a big jar full of jellybeans (Patrick’s result of evolution from Skittles to something else) falls on the floor; the jar isn’t smashed, but now there are jellybeans everywhere.

“Pete, stop it. We are not going to the hospital. And now you just have to bring me my spray from bathroom, okay?” Patrick responds calmly. “It will help to my throat, and don’t worry, it can be used during pregnancy.”

Pete rushes to the bathroom, finds the medicines on the shelf above the sink and runs back into the room, staring at Patrick. He’s short, and he looks vulnerable, but now he’s on the nervous stage, and he’s ready to kill everyone, who gets too close to him. Literally.

“Trick, it’s dangerous,” Pete starts, but Patrick glares at him, cutting him off.

“No. It’s just a headache and sore throat,” Patrick wraps himself into the blanket as Pete presses his lips to his sweaty forehead, checking him for a fever.

“Do you need something else?” Pete hands Patrick that spray for sore throat, and Patrick inhales it.

“Apples, maybe?” Patrick shrugs, tugging up the blanket.

He just wants to distract Pete, and probably, after little shopping he will be a little less hysterical. Actually, Patrick doesn’t feel _completely_ terrible, but Pete’s screaming makes Patrick’s head hurt even more.

He lets out a sigh of relief when Pete grabs his skateboard and goes out of the door.

They can go through it.

Pete calls Vicky. He’s in the center of a grocery store, and he has to buy apples (Patrick likes only red), but fuck it all — he calls Vicky. Pete feels angry and betrayed when the obstetrician takes Patrick’s side.

“If he will not feel better tomorrow, I’ll come, okay?” she tells him, voice exhausted.

“But we can call a taxi right now!” Pete nearly yells, taking apples and shoving them into the bag like a few weeks ago.

“Pete, no vehicles, please. Patrick’s vestibular system is crazy,” Vicky points out. “Give him a day, okay? And tomorrow we’ll talk about it again.”

“Fine!” Pete barks and hangs up while he stands in the line to the cashier.

It moves too slowly, but Pete finally pays for the fruits; he can’t leave Patrick alone for a long time, so he jumps on the skateboard and rushes back to the building.

When Pete hurries upstairs, he hears Patrick’s voice, and it worries him; what the hell, Patrick is supposed to be in the bed and drink hot tea.

“Gabe, I’m sorry,” Patrick apologizes. “I haven’t got the money for a book yet. I’ll pay you in the next month, okay?”

“Again? Stump, if you have any problems…”

Pete like a rocket runs to the door of Patrick’s rental apartment, and he swears to God, he’s gonna beat the shit out of its owner, if this creep is going to kick Patrick out. When Pete sees this ‘creep’, his fighting spirit automatically calms down. He’s extremely tall; the top of Patrick’s head is at this guy’s shoulder level.

“Hey?” Pete says and presses the bag with apples to his chest, holding the skate under his armpit.

“Are you his boyfriend or what?” Gabe asks, and Pete nods, allowing him to continue. “He doesn’t pay the rent, like, three months.”

“I said, I…” suddenly Patrick sways and steps back, leaning his back against the wall and closing his eyes. Pete jumps to him and snatches the sleeve of Patrick’s hoodie, helping him to stand upright.

“What the hell? Are you ill?” now Gabe is the one who concerned.

Patrick shakes his head and joins the conversation again.

“Sorry. I just haven’t had breakfast,” Patrick explains, giving him a glance over the glasses.

“You don’t have money even for a food?!” Gabe’s jaw drops.

Patrick doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do, so he nods shyly. He doesn’t actually look like starving, just tired a little, but it seems like Gabe already thinks that Patrick is about to faint from hunger. Without hesitation, Gabe allows him to pay in the next month or whenever Patrick will have enough money.

“I hope, you don’t only eat apples,” Gabe sighs.

Surprisingly, he’s not an asshole as Pete had thought at first.

After all the goodbyes, Pete smiles at him warmly and drags Patrick back into the apartment. Patrick is a big and stubborn trouble: he refuses to take any pills, convincing Pete to wait until the morning.

Clenching his teeth, Pete agrees. At least, Patrick’s temperature is normal. If this makes sense.

Pete picks up all the jellybeans and puts them back into the jar, because Patrick orders him to do this, like ‘man, they are still edible.’ Well, the floor is not so dirty.

Pete forces Patrick to drink a lot of hot green tea, checking him for a fever every second. When Patrick reassures he feels much better than at morning, Pete doesn’t believe him, he’s afraid more than Patrick in his fragile state. Now Pete can’t imagine his life without this little pregnant dude.

They watch ‘The Simpsons’, and Patrick falls asleep, resting his head on Pete’s lap. He snorts, and Pete takes his glasses off gently, praying for a good morning.

Patrick deserves it.

Fortunately, at morning Patrick feels like a newborn — a newborn who’s ready to give a birth to his future kid. Still pregnant, still feeling as if he was stabbed in the back, but alive. His head isn’t pounding anymore, and he can breathe freely.

Pete’s sure, it’s all Wentz’s magic.

 

***

It’s October, and it’s Patrick’s 34th week of pregnancy.

It’s late in the evening, and Patrick stands in the kitchen, cutting vegetables for a salad _(‘dude, vitamins’_ ) while Pete’s trying to make a baby cot in the living room without the instruction _(‘dude, I can do it, okay’_ ).

Something is not right.

It’s a nervous breakdown. Patrick is sure, he knows this feeling; dizziness, his vision in a blur even though he wears glasses, the baby kicks him non-stop, and Patrick wants to slap his stomach to calm the child inside him. When the sharp pain shoots his back and abdomen, Patrick gasps and drops the knife onto the table desk. He needs to go to room and tell Pete, but when Patrick tries to move, he almost falls and leans his shoulder against the wall (why the heck he always feels bad when he’s in the kitchen?), sliding down slowly till his knees hit the floor.

“Pete!” Patrick manages to scream before the world starts to spin dangerously fast.

Patrick presses his palm to his stomach, feeling familiar thrusts, which become stronger and stronger, and Patrick is afraid of his own baby, like it’s gonna tear apart the skin on his stomach, and there’ll be a lot of blood… The thought about blood makes him nauseous. Patrick yells inside his burning head, but then he feels Pete’s hands under his armpits.

“Trick, dude! Oh my God, what happened?” Pete’s voice sounds terrified.

Patrick tries to lift his head up, but he gives up on dizziness and closes his eyes instead.

They thought they have a few more weeks to prepare for the birth of a child, but it seems like the baby doesn’t want to wait until November.

Pete helps him to lie down on the floor, the linoleum is cold against Patrick’s shoulder blades, his t-shirt is too thin; Patrick doesn’t want to stay like this, but also he’s unable to get up, and he’s unbearably sick.

“C-call Vicky,” Patrick moans without opening his eyes. He hopes he isn’t going to throw up right now and right here, but probably, he will feel better after that.

“Shit, of course!” Pete runs to the room to grab a phone, and after a few seconds Patrick can hear his shaking voice.

“Vicky, it’s… It’s Pete. Patrick is _ready_. It starts! What do I do?!”

Patrick feels pulsations in his stomach, he’s seriously scared, and he’s definitely _not ready_. He slowly passes out from the pain and fear.

Pete wants to smash his stupid cellphone.

“Keep calm, Pete, I’m on my way! The ambulance will arrive in like twenty minutes,” Vicky replies worriedly as Pete rushes back to the kitchen to check barely breathing Patrick on the floor; Pete kneels next to his friend again, horrified.

“Fuck! Vicky, he’s out, damn, can you hear me? He’s not waking up!” Pete slightly shakes Patrick’s shoulder, forcing him to let out a groan.

“Make sure he’s not bleeding,” Vicky orders, distracting Pete from panic.

It’s kind of embarrassing, and Pete doesn’t actually want to do it this way, but blood wouldn’t be so noticeable on Patrick’s black jeans with elastic waistband. Despite the fact that Patrick has no female parts to be bleeding from, Pete mumbles ‘fine’ and presses his palm to Patrick’s crotch, hot and completely dry. Pete almost smirks when Patrick sticks his knees together not to let Pete touch him more. Then he remembers that Patrick is about to give a birth. Very romantic.  

“He’s not bleeding. But we need a help,” Pete begs, noticing that Patrick regains consciousness and covers his face with his hands. He can’t lie on his back because it’s too fucking painful, but when Patrick rolls onto his side, it only makes his nausea worse.

“I’ll be soon. Control his breathing. Bye,” Vicky hangs up.

Pete comes back to reality, face to face with Patrick, who fell into a silent hysteria. Sweat gleams on his temples and forehead, and his lips are swollen and red; Patrick blinks a few times as Pete places his hands on his stomach gently.

“Hold on,” Pete’s voice cracks as he feels the baby kicks at his hand.

“It hurts,” Patrick replies, and Pete’s forced to bend over to hear what Patrick’s whispering.

“Where?” Pete guesses he has to talk to Patrick not to let him faint again.

“D-don’t know. Back, legs… Everywhere,” Patrick tries to convince himself it’s all gonna be okay, and he’s not gonna get a heart attack. As ill luck would have it, his heart races at another spasm. Patrick holds his breath.

“Trick, you are not breathing right,” Pete’s hand traces to Patrick’s chest; his t-shirt sticks to his body, soaked with sweat.

“I don’t know how to breathe right,” Patrick responds, wincing at another hot wave of pain.

“You have to, because _you are_ pregnant,” Pete says calmly.

“And so what?!” Patrick freaks out. He doesn’t remember anything about breathing exercises even though he’s pregnant. This doesn’t make him feel better. Patrick exhales loudly.

“Hey,” Pete rubs Patrick’s stomach, and Patrick wants to ignore rhythmic spasms as the baby tries to find the way out. Patrick regrets he’s not a woman.

“I’m dizzy,” he complains, closing his eyes again; this time, his mind floats away, and Patrick has no strength to stay awake.

The doorbell rings, but Patrick doesn’t hear it. Pete feels guilty, leaving his already unconscious friend lying on the kitchen floor, as he rushes to open the door for Vicky and — probably — paramedics.

 

***

Someone cries.

Patrick’s head feels like he’s got a hard blow, and like his ears are plugged with cottonwool, but whatever. Someone cries, and Patrick opens his puffy eyes to see a bright sunlight and white ceiling, swirling above him.

“Finally!”

Patrick knows this voice, but he can’t turn to its owner — his neck is numb. It’s not fair — Patrick was dizzy as hell before passing out, and now everything keeps spinning as he wakes up. And muffled crying makes his ears hurt.

He’s insecure without his baseball cap, he’s half-blind without glasses, hospital gown is too loose, and Patrick feels strangely empty. Then he recognizes Pete who sits on the folding chair near the bed.

Patrick gives him a questioning glance.

“You were out all night,” Pete explains, moving the chair closer. “I’m gonna call Vicky. How are you?” Pete gets up and bends over Patrick’s bed.

Patrick wants to push him away, but he’s too weak, and also his stomach hurts after — Patrick’s fuzzed brain guesses — c-section.

“I feel sick. Like, I think I’m gonna puke,” Patrick warns when Pete gets too close to him.

“You did it on the way to hospital, do you remember?” Pete presses palm to Patrick’s forehead. Patrick feels even more insecure.

“Oh no,” Patrick rubs his eyes, brushing his hair away from his face. “Sorry. What else?”

“Vicky drugged you, and then she got the child, and then drugged you again,” Pete blurts out. “I was in the waiting room, I don’t know the details,” he bursts out with emotions and jumps to hospital ward’s door, but Patrick stops him.

“Why the hell too much drugs?” Patrick asks, licking his dry lips. “How’s the baby?”

Actually, Patrick had to start with this question, but he was afraid to hear something fearful. Honestly, he’s still afraid. And there is no crying anymore.

“It’s a boy!” Pete brings his hands up cheerfully. “Man, I swear he looks exactly like you!”

“Fat and small?” Patrick frowns, trying to sit up and wincing in pain at his bandaged belly.

“Small and beautiful!” Pete replies, almost out of the door.

“I wanna see him,” Patrick has never been so sure. The time has come.

Pete nods, disappearing in the hallway, and Patrick hears a cry again — probably it’s _his son_ crying, tiny, pink and chubby, and Patrick’s heart clenches when he realizes he’s a _father,_ he’s not alone now, and his life is no longer only his life. Patrick finally finds his glasses on the nightstand and takes them on. The haze dissipates a little, and Patrick sighs with relief.

He can't believe it’s over. No, it’s just the beginning, and he will never be old Patrick, egoistic and sarcastic, because now he has to be an idol for his baby boy.

When Vicky and Pete walk into the hospital ward, Patrick promptly forgets about his dizziness and sickness, because the obstetrician holds _someone_ , wrapped into clean blue sheets. Pete beams at him, and Patrick feels like he’s a character of a melodramatic movie (he’s sure this movie would be banned for TV), and also he feels sad, because he’s the only one of them who hasn’t seen the baby yet.

Patrick reaches his hands to take the child, and Pete sits down onto the chair again, watching Patrick’s reaction.   

“You are a great couple,” Vicky smiles and Pete chuckles in response.

The baby makes funny noises and blinks, and Patrick wants to apologize for scaring him; Pete was right, and Patrick can admit — this boy is a tiny copy of him.

“Hello, little person. Happy Birthday!” Patrick whispers, noticing his son smiles at his voice. “I will be a good father, I promise. We are like… Together forever, right?”

Patrick doesn’t know what he’s doing, but he just has to say something.

“Vicky said it’s good that you have no abs. It eased the pregnancy and operation,” Pete discusses; he’s gotten too involved into that entire medical thing.  

“She likes my tummy, I think it’s her fetish,” Patrick shrugs.

“Shut up, Stump,” Vicky slaps the back of Patrick’s head slightly.

“Don’t hit me, I’m a nursing mother,” Patrick tilts his head forward to kiss his son’s forehead.

Vicky chuckles at the ‘mother’, and even the newborn tries to stretch his tiny lips into a smile, falling asleep. Patrick is tired, and everything still sways a little, but the baby is warm on his hands, and he smells like milk or infant formula, Patrick doesn’t know the difference, but he’s ready to learn all the details, he’s ready to be a great father, and suddenly Patrick feels incredibly inspired. 

“So, the question is: what’s his name?” Pete crosses his arms over his chest.

He has some thoughts about the boy’s future name, but he decides it’s Patrick’s right to name the baby like he wants to. Probably, Patrick’s version would be more adequate than Mowgli or something like that.

At this moment, Patrick forgets his own name and looks at his newborn son carefully.

“Declan,” Patrick blurts out.

“Why?!” his friends’ voices sound surprised.

“Why not?”

Patrick giggles, and Vicky thinks it’s the side effect of anesthesia; she guesses the dose was stronger than necessary, and it accidentally knocked Patrick out for nearly ten hours. Besides, he was already unconscious when they arrived in maternity ward. Erlier, at home, it was hard to put him on the stretcher, because Vicky couldn’t bring paramedics with her, so she and Pete carried Patrick on the stretcher together. It was pretty dangerous, and an ambulance driver was shocked, but he didn’t even see Patrick’s face.

Pete doesn’t know how many laws they broke last night.

But now, Patrick doesn’t look sick anymore, he’s just pale from little but inevitable blood loss; he and his baby were calm and great during the surgery. Also, Patrick’s unconsciousness helped to avoid his probable hysteria.

Vicky hopes Patrick won’t make a scene about the stitches and future scar on his stomach.

Pete hopes Patrick won’t kill him for calling his mom while he was under anesthesia.

Patrick thinks his mom will be in his hospital ward in a couple of hours. Probably, Patricia will use a teleport.

 

***

Patrick’s recovery goes much better than Vicky had expected; his skin regeneration is fast, and the wound on his stomach starts to heal almost immediately.

Patricia takes a vacation and comes to visit Patrick; she looks much younger than on Skype, and Pete quickly finds a common language with her.

For five days, Patrick stays at hospital as a ‘secret Dr. Asher’s patient’, and Vicky has enough powers to kick everyone out of Patrick’s room during his recovery. Pete guesses, she likes Patrick much more than just a friend; the way she looks at him, smiles at him and asks him about his health. Of course, Patrick is just her first male pregnant patient, but Pete is jealous anyway.

When Patrick gets the stitches removed, Pete and Patricia finally take him and Declan home. Vicky promises to visit them every weekend and suddenly blurts out she wants a boyfriend like Patrick.

“You are my weirdest friend ever,” she chuckles at the day of Patrick’s discharge from the hospital.

Pete grins, holding Patrick’s hand. Also, he works on convincing Patrick to move his things into his apartment, but it doesn’t bring any success.

Until, they stay at Patrick’s place.

It’s weird to see Patrick with the kid on his hands; Pete used to live with pregnant Patrick and look at his round belly, but now Pete still can’t stop staring at him. Patrick looks unusually small in his hoodies and t-shirts; well, he still has some fat on his stomach, but it makes him exactly _that_ Patrick, and Pete just wants to cuddle with him all day.

It’s impossible while Patricia lives in Patrick’s apartment and controls every their step. Also, she can calm Declan down with the touch of her hand and calls herself ‘Granny Trish’. Patricia is more optimistic than Patrick, and he just huffs crossly when she calls him a ‘grumbler’.

“Patrick Martin Stump, look at your jeans!” Patricia gasps as she sees Patrick in his usual not-pregnant clothes.

“What?” Patrick reacts blankly, shaking the milk in the bottle.  

“There are holes on your knees,” Patricia explains like it’s the worst crime.

“I like it,” Patrick shrugs and heads to the room, where Pete soothes Declan with a rattle. Certainly, Declan hates rattles.

Patricia wants to add that Pete’s jeans are too tight, but she just waves it away.

Declan grows up very fast, and he doesn’t look like he was born ahead of schedule; he looks pretty big and absolutely healthy. Vicky checks him out every weekend, and Pete is still a little jealous, when Declan smiles and giggles as she plays with him. But Pete likes Dr. Asher now.

They are so busy with pacifiers, diapers and infant formulas, that they forget about the time completely. Holding Declan on her hands, Patricia smiles as she catches Pete and Patrick sleeping in an embrace with each other on the couch in the middle of the day.

She’s sure, they are doing a good job.

All this time, Patricia gives them advices about feeding, bathing, she deciphers what-does-the-baby-say, and Pete literally writes her instructions into a special notebook like FAQ.

“I wanna see a happy son, his happy boyfriend and a happy grandson,” Patricia’s voice cracks a little when she hugs _her boys_.

“I hope so, mom,” Patrick replies, and Pete nods in agreement wordlessly.

 

***

In the middle of November, Patricia gets back home, and the problems start.

Patrick thinks his parent skills go to the same level as his yoga- and social skills. He’s tired of being disappointed in himself, but also he’s tired to jump across the room with  _too loud_ child on his hands. It’s a pretty stubborn baby-boy. Shaking the rattle, Pete pokes the kid’s soft chubby cheek with his finger to distract him. Declan takes a break in his crying and literally gives Pete a death glare before he starts yelling again. 

Pete holds a bottle with baby food, but when Declan spits at his face in a third time, Pete decides he’s not hungry.  Patrick leans his back against the wall and tries to arrange with his son.

“What do you want?” Patrick moans, looking into Declan’s grey-green-blue eyes. Declan snorts.

“Breastfeed him,” Pete offers.

Patrick mentally flips him off.

“Listen to me, little person,” Patrick starts. “I love you, okay? And I’ll be there for you forever, and I don’t care if you don’t want it…”

“He doesn’t understand,” Pete guesses, getting a double death glare from Stump-family.

“Shut up, Pete. He’s not stupid,” Patrick snaps back and turns to his son again. “You’ve been kicking me for I-don’t-know-how-many-weeks, and I’ve been enduring it, right? So, do me a favor, be a good boy now, okay?” Patrick adds calmly.

Pete can swear, Declan _thinks_ , frowning /again/ in Patrick’s style. Then he sighs heavily and stops crying.

“You are the father of the year,” Pete responds respectfully.

“I know,” Patrick smirks and hands him Declan; Pete mutters ‘what the f…” when the boy winks at him.

He’s not stupid — Patrick’s right — he just teases them and tests them.

Patrick feels like he’s half-deaf after Declan’s yelling, and there’s still ringing in his ears, but he wants to sing, so he takes his guitar and sits down onto the fitball (Patrick is causelessly proud of himself that now he can sit on it, keeping the balance). Playing guitar always helps him to calm down, and maybe it can be an anti-cry button for his son.

It works. Declan likes the sound of guitar and blinks sleepily during the first song — ‘Turnpike Gates’ again — but this time the song sounds more optimistic, Patrick doesn’t feel useless anymore, he has his own family now, he can say.  Patrick sings a few more covers and even his own new songs, and Declan falls asleep on Pete’s hands.

“Wow,” Pete whispers, putting the kid into a baby cot.

“Magic,” Patrick shrugs, giving him a half-smile.

Pete kisses his bitten red lips; it’s not the first time — Pete used to kiss Patrick when he’s in a good mood, but this night their making-out suddenly grows into something more than just innocent kissing.

 

***

In the first half of December, Gabe reminds them of his existence again.

“What the hell is this, Stump?” Gabe’s jaw drops in familiar manner, when Patrick opens the door.

Adjusting the strap of the kangaroo-bag with Declan on his stomach, Patrick lifts his head up to read Gabe’s face expression, and his son copies his movement. Then Patrick recalls his rent arrears and decides he’s on the verge of a heart-attack.

“Um… Surprise from my ex-girlfriend?” Patrick guesses sarcastically.

 _‘Girlfriend? What the fuck? You look like a virgin,’_ rushes through Gabe’s mind.

“You look… Thinner,” Gabe says approvingly.

Yes, Patrick has lost some weight after the surgery, and now part of his weight-loss tries to smile at Gabe. Patrick hopes helplessly that Declan’s charm will help him to avoid the trial.

“Oh, thank you. It’s all the apple diet,” Patrick blurts out.

When they enter the room, Pete glares at Gabe like he’s his worst enemy and not just an apartment’s owner.

Patrick regrets he didn’t move into Pete’s place earlier. Declan blinks at Gabe and mutters something in child language.

“Hey, he’s trying to say my name!” Gabe’s heart melts.

“He’s trying to say ‘fuck you’,” Pete replies darkly.

Gabe has a dilemma; at first, he couldn’t kick out innocent and polite Stump, then he couldn’t show to the door to poor-student-Stump, and now he can’t be rude with tiny-parent-Stump. Also, his girlfriend is a bitch.

“You can beat me up for non-payment, but it won’t change anything,” Patrick confesses, sitting down onto the couch.

Patrick convinces himself not to give up on panic attack despite the fact that his chest is already tight. Technically, it’s Patrick’s fault, and he’s an ass in this situation, but the kid takes a lot of time and money, even if the website pays in time for all the recorded audiobooks. He feels Pete’s hand on his knee and relaxes a little, but Gabe is _too fucking tall_ even when he sits on the chair.

Gabe doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do now.

During their last meeting Patrick was obviously sick and  even tried to faint; it was a good reason not to bother him, but Patrick still doesn’t pay the rent, and Gabe gets angry, but now the room looks like a ~~fucking~~ family nest with baby cot, baby clothes, toys and tiny bottles.

What. The. Hell.

And this baby boy looks exactly like Patrick. And he smiles at Gabe.

Patrick has to say something, but during the pregnancy, he used to get nauseous when he’s nervous, and it still happens, so he doesn’t want to open his mouth. He’s very nervous right now, and his lunch feels uncomfortable and heavy in his stomach.

“We’re moving away,” Patrick catches Gabe’s glance; at the same time, Patrick’s lunch rises up to his throat.

“Man, I understand, and I’m not kicking you out…” Gabe trails off when Patrick shakes his head.

“No, it’s my decision,” Patrick responds, swallowing. “I’ll pay you… Someday,” he kisses the top of Declan’s head.

Patrick doesn’t want to give his child an anxiety disorder or something like that, so he keeps his voice calm.

“You don’t have to…” Gabe starts again, but this time Pete cuts him off.

“Let him decide, okay?” Pete joins the conversation a little irritably.

Gabe nods and suddenly offers them to help with moving their things into Pete’s apartment; he has a car, and now he just wants not to be an asshole as he used to. Also, he’s sure he won’t take Patrick’s money no matter what.

 

***

Pete’s apartment is not big: living room, bedroom, tiny kitchen and bathroom, but Patrick admits it’s better, and bigger, and _not rental_.

For their surprise, Gabe really helps them to move all the stuff, and he even lifts up Patrick’s bags on the second floor, while Pete drags the baby cot upstairs, and Patrick holds the guitarcase in one hand and his son on the other.

Gabe stays until the evening, helping to make the place for Declan more comfortable.

And then he disappears with a huge satisfied grin.

Patrick can’t remember the last time he’d slept on the bed. After constant sleeping on his hard couch, his back hurts almost chronically, and now, in Pete’s bedroom, lying on his stomach on Pete’s bed, he feels amazing and safe. Patrick’s bags are still mostly not-unpacked, but exhausted guys can do it tomorrow morning.

Declan sleeps peacefully in the baby cot near their bed. It’s a miracle, because the boy usually panics when he can’t see Patrick.

Pete snorts next to Patrick, and he obviously wants to offer something; Patrick buries his nose into the pillow, dozing off, but Pete’s hand traces from Patrick’s neck to his shoulder blades, sliding down slowly, hot and strong…

“Pete, I’m tired,” Patrick mumbles, blushing and pressing his face to the pillow.

“I know, I’m just… Maybe, massage?” Pete’s hands slide under Patrick’s ratty t-shirt.

Patrick holds his son on his hands like 24/7, and sometimes it’s the only one way to stop his crying. When Pete runs around the room with the baby on his hands, Patrick plays guitar and sings, because his voice is like an anti-stress therapy for Pete and Declan. Also, Patrick works on audiobooks and manages to write music.

These days, Patrick’s back doesn’t let him sleep at nights.

“Oh. Yes,” Patrick replies wearily, and Pete smirks; after the childbirth, Patrick can sleep in any position, even when he stands somewhere.

Pete sits on the bed, his thighs press against Patrick’s; Pete massages his boyfriend’s back as Patrick’s breathing becomes steadier and calmer.

Patrick smells like baby soap and milk; his hair has grown almost to his shoulders, but Patrick is too lazy to cut it. By the way, it’s the best form of Patrick’s existence, and Pete just wants to touch him everywhere; he rubs Patrick’s shoulders, and he’s convinced he’s doing it right, because now Patrick sleeps, hugging the pillow.

“Hey,” Pete slightly pushes Patrick’s shoulder; he doesn’t know why, but he just wants to be sure.

“M-m?”  Patrick’s responds groggily, lifting his head up.

“Am I your family?” Pete’s throat suddenly dries, and his voice sounds hoarse. “Declan is _our_ kid, not only _yours_?”

“Yes, Pete,” Patrick rolls onto his back, and despite the darkness in the bedroom, Pete knows he smiles a little. “You are my family. We are family.”

Pete is satisfied now. He lies down next to Patrick, pressing his nose against Patrick’s unshaven cheek.

They have a few more hours before Declan wakes up and their _family life_ starts again.

 

***

When Patrick gets expelled from college, he doesn’t feel like he missed something.

Instead, he decides to go jogging in the mornings, with Pete and Declan for a company. So, despite Patrick’s phenomenal laziness at everything what resembles sport, they go to the sports ground near the building.

Yes, Pete lives in a very nice area.

It’s pretty cold winter morning, and Pete yawns, holding Declan in the kangaroo-bag fixed on his stomach.

“Are you sure?” Pete asks, yawning again and covering his mouth with his palm.

Patrick nods, adjusting knit cap on Declan’s head. Pete jokes that in glasses this boy will look even more Stump-style, but Patrick just hopes his son’s eyesight will be perfect, unlike his own. He always loses his glasses, and when Patrick finds them, they are dirty-broken-smashed or something like that. Also, right now Patrick’s glasses are fogged, and he wipes them on his scarf every second.

He desperately wants to be in the bed, even Declan is still sleeping. But Patrick has to do something with his body before Christmas. Probably, he doesn’t have enough time to lose weight, but worth to try, anyway.

When Patrick runs away and starts his first lap, Pete watches him, smirking. Why the heck this guy can’t just sit on his ass?.. It’s winter, and it means Patrick wears jeans without holes on knees, and these jeans are too baggy for him. Pete doesn’t know what Patrick wants to get, so he’s just waiting for him, leaning his back against the side of a tribune.

It doesn’t take a lot of time.

Patrick gives up after the first lap.

“Satisfied?” Pete chuckles softly, when Patrick stops next to him and doubles over, catching his breath.

“Yes,” Patrick exhales, coughing. “Gonna choke on my lungs now, but yes.”

“So, tomorrow..?” Pete grits his teeth, teasing.

“Fuck it all,” Patrick wipes his glasses on his scarf again and tugs his beanie down to his eyebrows.

Pete promptly covers Declan’s ears with his hands.

“No bad words!” Pete laughs at Patrick’s face expression.

“Okay,” Patrick sighs. “Let’s go back home.”

They walk down the street, sleepy and tired, but somewhat pacified. Patrick suddenly confesses he wants to upload some of his songs in the internet, because his voice is already pretty famous and popular, and maybe it will be the start of his music career. Patrick guesses it’s a good idea, Pete’s sure it’s just great.

Declan wakes up and laughs, when he sees fat pigeons on the pavement, and Pete thinks back of that hour in the garden near the hospital. Yeah, pigeons are their friends.

At home, they talk to Patrick’s mom on Skype. Pete places the laptop on the nightstand beside their bed and tries to deal with Declan, who wants to chew the charger while Patrick wrangles with Patricia.

“What about shaving?” she asks, scanning Patrick’s face.

“I don’t know, I’m lazy,” Patrick huffs, scratching his cheek. Shaving is not necessary for him, because he can’t grow a normal beard, and all what he has on his face is these sideburns, actually.

Sitting on Pete’s hands, Declan glances at the monitor and frowns. Patrick takes the kid and gets him closer to web-camera, distracting his mom from scolding him.

“He wants to say ‘hi’!” Patrick says in a sing-song voice, holding his snoring son.

“Like ‘hi, Granny Trish’,” Pete adds, leaning to Patrick’s shoulder.

“So, what’s new?” Patricia changes the subject with her usual question.

“We talk every day, you know all the…” Patrick grumbles, trying to take back his glasses from Declan’s hands, because he starts licking the lenses.

“I proposed, and Patrick said ‘yes’,” Pete blurts out, looking at Patrick.

“Did I?” Patrick looks surprised, winking and wiping his glasses on Declan’s shirt.

“Will you marry me?” Pete’s voice tone is so usual that it makes Patrick smirk.

“Sure,” Patrick replies with the same intonation.

It seems like the time stops, and the clock’s ticking too loud. Even Declan stops chewing Patrick’s t-shirt and freezes, blinking sleepily.

“Oh boys…” Patricia doesn’t cry, honestly. There’s just something in her eye.

“So, what about big family dinner for Christmas?” Pete asks, looking at the laptop screen. “Me and Patrick, our baby-boy, you and my parents?”

It sounds creepy. It’s weird, and Pete’s offer is kind of unexpected for Patrick, but he can’t keep hiding from Pete’s parents. They know Pete’s dating a guy with the kid, but his parents haven’t seen Patrick and Declan yet.

“It’s a good idea, I think,” Patricia agrees, fighting against her shaking voice.

“Well… I think it’s time, right?” Patrick mumbles, shrugging nervously. Declan just nods and giggles, making the atmosphere a little less tense.

Pete beams, and Patricia traditionally DOES NOT cry — there’s just something in her eye.

**Author's Note:**

> patrick is a pregnant 19 year-old with financial problems and pete is just the cutest man ever; i don't know where it came from, and i'm not a big fan of mpreg, but anyway..  
> also, vicky is older than patrick because IT WAS NECESSARY !!  
> \----  
> sorry if anything is wrong, and my grammar is shitty because i don't speak english.  
> \----  
> thanks to barelyrachaelll for helping me to fix some mistakes ^^


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